


The Sound of Your Laugh Through the Wall

by meeks00



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-13
Updated: 2010-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:03:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeks00/pseuds/meeks00
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things Walt Hasser knows about Ray Person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Your Laugh Through the Wall

Ray doesn’t wear boxers. He doesn’t wear briefs. He doesn’t wear boxer briefs.

Walt does the laundry. He knows this.

That’s not to say Ray doesn’t have any. He has boxers with small giraffes on them, ones with green wayfarers or snowflakes or American flag stripes. But he doesn’t wear them.

Walt goes for boxers himself. He likes the plain ones — the solid colors, the ones with stripes, sometimes the ones with little polka dots if he’s in that sort of mood. No one sees the designs anyway. But Ray’s unworn boxers are the ones with all of those weird prints on them.

Walt rifles through the underwear drawer for some to wear every day. He knows this.

There are new boxers in there every so often too, the tags gone but that stupid plastic tag-holder still attached because Ray doesn’t know how to pull them off properly. Sometimes Walt’s go missing or they’re all dirty, and he’ll wear one of Ray’s because he figures they shouldn’t go to waste.

They’re pretty similar in size, at least. Ray’s lean from head to toe where Walt is a bit more top heavy with slightly broader shoulders. Ray also wears slightly slimmer jeans, has started wearing T-shirts that fit him if he’s not stealing one of Walt’s. But as far as hip widths and underwear style, they’re similar.

Walt sleeps with the man. He knows this.

It’s not like Ray will notice when Walt borrows a pair of those garish boxers anyway — they both sleep commando. Even when Ray strips him down, Walt’s pretty sure the man doesn’t notice whose boxers he’s wearing because when Ray gets turned on, it’s on, and beware any clothes that stand in the way.

Not that Walt really pays attention to what’s beneath Ray’s jeans when they’re going at it either — aside from the obvious appendages, of course. Usually it’s like a race for who can get the other man’s clothes off first. A few of his shirts are missing buttons because Ray does not fool around with these kinds of competitions. He usually wins too, not that Walt minds.

Walt likes to think he knows a lot about Ray. He knows that low thread counts make Ray’s skin itch, but the man won’t bitch out loud because he thinks the more expensive sheets are for pussies, not hardcore Recon Marines. When Walt realized this shortly after OIF, he secretly went to Pottery Barn because Ray scratched and rolled over so much at night and woke up pissy from lack of sleep until he had his morning coffee and blow job.

Walt also knows that Ray likes to cook. When they first got back from Iraq, Walt had trouble eating. He didn’t talk about it. Ray didn’t either. What Ray did do, though, was cook fuckin’ delicious meals — breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day — from pancakes and bacon to chicken broccoli alfredo with rotini noodles. That last one is Ray’s favorite. It’s Walt’s favorite now too.

Walt also knows that Ray likes to swim. And Ray not only wears no underwear, he also doesn’t wear swimming trunks. He likes swimming in the river during the summer, in the pool late at night, likes lying in their bathtub. He likes swimming when Walt is there.

Walt loves him. It’s why he knows all of these things.

But what he doesn’t know is why Ray has so many boxers when he doesn’t even wear them.

“Ray, why do you even have these if you don’t use them?” Walt asks one morning after his shower as he digs around for a pair to wear.

Ray pulls the pillow from where he’s holding it on top of his face, does a half curl up, and looks blearily at him. “Huh?”

Walt hides a grin and turns to pull out the ones with the monkeys and bananas. “These? Why do you keep these if you never wear them?”

Ray sometimes smokes in bed when he’s out of it or sleepy or blissed out. And whenever he seems to remember Walt’s there, he stubs it out right away. This time he gets in two morning puffs before he rubs his eyes with his free hand and takes in Walt there holding up the boxers.

He blinks for a moment before he turns to stub out the cigarette on the bedside table. They got it from Goodwill.

“I told you I don’t mind you smoking,” Walt says, still holding up the boxers.

“You don’t mind getting second-hand smoke?” Ray asks when he turns to sit back against the headboard. His eyebrows are raised, and he has that skeptical expression that’s a lot different from his joking one. “Are you retarded? Do I need to go sign you up for those special classes at the community college?”

Walt just laughs, drops the boxers back into the drawer. He walks over and crawls onto the bed. Ray pulls the towel from around his waist so that it falls on top of the blanket over his knees. Walt settles there on top of him, separated from body heat by that the high-count bed sheet, but he can feel every line, knows every curve, has memorized every contour of Ray’s body.

Ray doesn’t only smoke absently when he’s out of it in one way or another. Usually he saves his smokes for when he’s particularly stressed out or pissed off and doesn’t want Walt to know. Usually he’s pretty vocal about everything, but sometimes he’s not. Most of those times he goes to the backyard and adds to a growing pile of beige cigarette butts.

But Walt can always tell. He can feel the stress and the pissed off feelings in every line and every contour of Ray’s body when they touch.

Walt can also taste the smoke on Ray’s tongue when they kiss. It’s how he knows this.

He maybe likes it.

There are some things Ray likes about Walt too of course. Sometimes Walt doesn’t understand them, sometimes he hates certain things about himself, but sometimes it’s also OK.

Ray likes the way Walt burns noodles — he says he likes the way they crunch. Ray likes the way Walt sucks his cock — Ray is very vocal about this, not only in the bedroom, but also that one time at Walt’s family reunion, which is the reason why Walt can never look at his grandmother without shame again. Ray likes the way Walt sleeps — sometimes Walt wakes up and Ray’s half leaning over him, watching him with a small grin that turns into his shit-eating one or his horny one just a second after Walt wakes up enough to understand.

“I don’t like wearing underwear — too constricting,” Ray says after a minute, placing his hands on Walt’s hips and tugging him down so they’re pressed against each other. “I like seeing you wearing my underwear though. It’s why I keep throwing out your stupid boring-ass ones.”

Walt can’t help it that he grins then. Tastes smoke when he kisses the man. Doesn’t resist when Ray pushes him over and climbs out of the covers so they can lie atop each other, skin to skin — not separated by clothes, by underwear, by sheets. By anything.

Ray loves him. Walt knows this too.


End file.
